


Locked Up

by imagineteamfreewill



Series: Making Promises [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Reader's Parent, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:25:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineteamfreewill/pseuds/imagineteamfreewill
Summary: After Dean caught you hunting and brought you back to the bunker, your life became a living hell. Months later, you’re still on lockdown in your underground home, but finally, you can’t take it anymore.





	Locked Up

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr account of the same name on December 12th, 2014 and edited on August 16th, 2017.

Three months. It had been three months since Dean had brought you back to the bunker—three long months of fighting, hiding, and attempting to sneak out. You couldn’t count the number of times you had pulled the packed bag out from underneath your bed and left the bunker, only to be found the next day by your father and your uncle. Every day was exactly the same; you got up, ate breakfast and showered, then went back to your room and stayed there for the rest of the day, only coming out for meals. The first month had been hell. You had tried everything to get Dean to let you leave. You had screamed and yelled, done everything you knew he hated. You’d sulked and moped and sobbed. You had even promised not to hunt, and you had tried to convince Sam and Cas to let you out. You had even tried praying, but still, Dean refused. You were staying. 

Dean now slept with his door open so he could hear you if you left your room. Tonight, however, you knew he had it closed. Sliding out of bed, you quietly slipped into your boots, lacing them up. You hadn’t bothered to change into pajamas; there was no point in keeping up appearances anymore, as you had in the past. The brothers didn’t seem to notice you anyway.

You pulled on your jacket and reach under the bed, grabbing your suitcase and your backpack from underneath. Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you looked around your room for anything left behind.

“Nothing of consequence,” you murmured to yourself.

Wrapping your hand around the handle of your bag, you left your room and walked towards the bunker door. You passed both the boys’ rooms and heard noise coming from Dean’s room. You knew exactly what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. You scoffed, disgusted.

By the time you had focused again on what you were doing, you had reached the door, and you opened it, a gust of cold air blowing in your face. It carried in snowflakes, and for a moment you panicked, thinking that Dean would see them and knew you had left. But then logic returned and you remembered that the snow would melt in the heat of the room.

The door slammed shut behind you, sealing the Winchesters’ home from the cold winter air. After a brief moment, you headed south, trying to ignore the frigid wind that was already beginning to cut through your winter coat.

You didn’t look back.

* * *

You estimated that you had made it about fifteen miles by the time Sam and Dean would have figured out you were gone. Without a cell phone, they couldn’t reach you, and they definitely couldn’t track you. Instead, you had bought a new phone and a time card at the first gas station you passed. Everything you bought on the road you bought with cash. Credits cards could be traced—you had hunted and hacked enough to know that.

Your legs hurt from walking, your arms and shoulders from carrying your bags. There was a fork in the road. A tiny town rested at the end of the road on the left, while more road and snow-covered cornfields greeted you on the right. Pausing, you set your bags on either side of you and watched the snowflakes fall. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself. The sound of wings flapping came from behind you, but you said nothing.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said.

You smiled in spite of yourself. “Hello, Cas,” you replied. You didn’t bother turning around to face him. “Have you come to take me home?” Snowflakes swirled in the wind, and you tilted your head upwards, watching them dance.

“You know very well you shouldn’t leave the bunker, Y/N.” Cas’ tone was devoid of any emotion.

You whirled around, your hair flying out on all sides. “I shouldn’t leave the bunker?” you exclaimed, suddenly furious. “Why, Cas? Why?” Cas opened his mouth to speak, but you continued. “No, Cas. You don’t get to talk. You’ve been either AWOL or siding with Dean on this—who, by the way, doesn’t even have a good reason for keeping me locked up! Locked up. Like a prisoner. Have you ever been in prison, Cas? Have you ever felt trapped? And every time you’re this close,” you held up your thumb and forefinger for emphasis,” to freedom, it gets farther away and you’re locked up on a shorter chain! And then you bury yourself into a hole to keep warm from the coldness life sheds your way and you think maybe, just maybe, it’ll get better. You’ll get to leave this prison cell and— And live a life, and maybe fall in love, and finish college, and…”

By now there were tears spilling out of your eyes, and all the frustration you’d held in over the last few months froze to your face with the teardrops. Cas stood frozen in place, staring at you with an odd expression in his eyes.

You scoffed at his impassive reaction. “Of course. Silent. As always.” You held out both arms and closed your eyes as if you were to be handcuffed. A snowy silence fell over the two of you. You waited and waited, and finally opened your eyes to see the angel still standing in his original position.

“I’m not here to return you to your father, Y/N.”

A wave of shock rolled off you. “What?” you breathed.

Castiel nodded, then walked towards you. He took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. “Where to?” he asked, grabbing your hand.

“Denver,” you replied, watching him for a moment. You shut your eyes tightly and felt a sense of weightlessness come over you as Castiel took off. Moments later, the sensation was gone and your feet were firmly planted on the ground again. Both of your bags had also traveled with you.

“That’s not quite like the movies,” you told him with a tiny smile.

Cas didn’t release your hand. “Y/N, I—”

You slipped your hand out of his and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Cas.” You turned to walk away, and you swore that there was a hint of a blush on the angel’s cheeks. Cas was never big on gratitude and affection, but sometimes you knew he needed it.

* * *

The next month passed quickly. You established a new routine of classes, working, and catching up with friends. When they asked why you had left so quickly, you said it was a family emergency. You seamlessly inserted yourself back into your small social circle, appearing at parties and going out to bars. Soon it was like you had never even been gone, in their minds at least. Everything was back to normal.

One night, a group of you and some other students from your dorm went out. It was all fun and games, and the bunker and its occupants were the last things on your mind when you went up to the bar to get a drink.

“One beer, please,” you told the bartender. You sat down on a stool and waited. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a man set his drink down and sigh.

“Y/N,” you heard him say. You jumped, your hand slipping to your waist where you had the angel blade Cas had given you. “Whoa, hold up.” The man turned and you gasped.

“Dean?” you exclaimed quietly. “How the hell did you find me?”

Your father chuckled a bit and signaled the other employee for another drink. “I never lost you. I knew exactly where you were, who you were with.” The bartender set your beer down and you took a long drink of it. Dean’s drink came as well, and he held it between his hands, watching it intently.

“If you knew where I was, then why didn’t you—” you trailed off. After a second, you straightened, clenching your jaw. “I’m not going back with you.” The Winchester took a swig of his drink and stared straight ahead as you continued to speak, “You kept me trapped in there, like an animal. It’s not your decision to make. I’m  _going_  to keep hunting, whether you agree with it or not, and I’m not going to let you stop me.” Dean pushed his tongue into his cheek, a nervous habit you knew he had when he was trying not to say anything. “Nothing you can say or do will ever change that.”

His hand was clenched into a fist and he stood up and slapped a few bills on the counter. You flinched at his outburst, taking a step back and watching as he turned to look at you.

“You go on one more hunt, Y/N, and you can forget you were ever my daughter,” Dean growled, his voice coated with heavy gray steel. He loomed over you, the threat hanging between both of you.

“Fine,” you spat. Dean walked out of the bar without another word, and you returned to your party.

Two days later you went on another hunt.


End file.
